


With affection, Lara Jean

by ShinMeiko



Category: To All the Boys I've Loved Before Series - Jenny Han, To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before (2018)
Genre: F/M, alternative ending, p.s. i still love you, the other boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2020-03-08 03:14:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18886045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShinMeiko/pseuds/ShinMeiko
Summary: "I don't think it was our time then. I guess it isn't now, either. But one day maybe it will be."What if it actually was their time? What if Lara Jean had chosen John over Peter that day. Would they have worked? Would they have been as perfect as she imagined? Could she forget Peter?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The story begins on Lara Jean's birthday in 'P.S. I still love you' (chapter 54). This first chapter therefore takes a lot from the book at the beginning to then go the other way (obviously).
> 
> Just so we are clear, my heart just melt when she chose Peter, but John (as any good third party in a love triangle) was so perfect as well, and it just left me wondering. In her shoes, I don't think I would have made the same choice.

Birthday breakfast at the diner was a bit of a tradition with Margot and Josh and me. If my birthday was on a weekday, we’d wake up early and go before school. I’d order blueberry pancakes, and Margot would put a candle in them, and they’d sing.

The day of my seventeenth birthday, Josh sends me a Happy Bday text, but I get that we won’t be going to the diner. He has a girlfriend now, and it would be weird, especially with no Margot. The text is enough. I am in peace with that era being over, however brutal it felt when Margot left.

For breakfast Daddy makes chorizo scrambled eggs, and Kitty’s made me a big card with pictures of Jamie pasted all over it. Margot video-chats me to wish me happy birthday and to tell me my present should be arriving that afternoon or the next.

At school Chris and Lucas put a candle in the donuts they got out of the vending machine and they sing me “Happy Birthday” in the hallway. Chris gives me a new lipstick: red for when I want to be bad, she says. Peter doesn’t say anything to me in chemistry class; I doubt he knows it’s my birthday, and besides, what could I even expect him to say after the way things ended between us? Still, it’s a nice day, uneventful in its niceness.

But then, as I’m leaving school, I see John parked out front. He’s standing in front of his car; he hasn’t seen me yet. In this bright afternoon light, the sun warms John’s blond head like a halo, and suddenly I’m struck with the visceral memory of loving him from afar, studiously, ardently. I so admired his slender hands, the slope of his cheekbones. Once upon a time I knew his face by heart. I had him memorized.

And the feeling doesn’t seem so alien anymore. I’m nearly there again. Being with John, however new it is, feels like going back to a familiar place.

My steps quicken. “Hi!” I say, waving. “How are you here right now? Don’t have you school today?”

“I left early,” he says.

“You? John Ambrose McClaren cut school?”

He laughs. “I brought you something.” John pulls a box out of his coat pocket and thrusts it at me. “Here.”

I take it from him, it’s heavy and substantial in my palm. “Should I… should I open it right now?”

“If you want.” He is smiling, and I know he means it. But I can also see an impatience in his eyes. I think he wants to see how I would react to the gift. And I don’t feel like I can wait anyway.

I can feel his eyes on me as I rip off the paper, open the white box. He’s anxious. I ready a smile on my face so he’ll know I like it, no matter what it is. Just the fact that he thought to buy me a present – and that he would cut school to give it to me – is so… dear.

Nestled in white tissue paper is a snow globe the size of an orange, with a brass bottom. A boy and girl are ice-skating inside. She’s wearing a red sweater; she has on earmuffs. She’s making a figure eight, and he’s admiring her. It’s a moment caught in amber. One perfect moment, preserved under glass. Just like that night it snowed in April.

All the memories – and the feelings – come rushing back in my brain, and I feel something pulling in my heart.

“I love it,” I say, and I do, so much. Only a person who really knew me could give me this gift. To feel so known, so understood. It’s such a wonderful feeling, I could cry. It’s something I’ll keep forever. This moment, and this snow globe.

I get on my tiptoes and hug him, and he wraps his arms around me tight and then tighter. “Happy birthday, Lara Jean.” He whispered that in my ear, and his voice makes me feel all funny inside. I haven’t felt that in a long time.

I’m about to get into his car when I see Peter striding over to us. “Hold up a second,” he says, a pleasant half smile on his face.

Warily I say, “Hey.”

“Hey, Kavinsky,” John says.

Peter gives him a nod. “I didn’t get a chance to say happy birthday, Covey.”

“But—you saw me in chem class…,” I say.

“Well, you left in a hurry. I have something for you. Open up your hands.” He takes the snow globe out of my hand and gives it to John. “Here, can you hold this?”

I look from Peter to John. Now I’m nervous. And a bit annoyed, too. What sort of timing is this? Peter had a chance to see me all day, and I can’t help but wonder if he would have talked to me at all if he didn’t see me here with John.

“Hold your hands out,” Peter prompts. I look at John one more time before I obey, and Peter pulls something out of his pocket and drops it into my palms. My heart locket. “It’s yours.”

Slowly I say, “I thought you returned the necklace to your mom’s store.”

“Nope. Wouldn’t look right on another girl.”

I blink. “Peter, I can’t accept this.” I try to give it back, but he shakes his head; he won’t take it. “Peter, please.”

“No. When I get you back, I’m gonna put that necklace back around your neck and pin you.” He tries to hold my eyes with his own. “Like the 1950s. Remember, Lara Jean?”

I open my mouth and then close it. “I don’t think pin means what you think it means,” I tell him, holding the necklace out to him. “Please, just take it.”

“Tell me what your wish is,” he urges. “Wish for anything, and I’ll give it to you, Lara Jean. All you have to do is ask.”

I feel dizzy. All around us, people are exiting the building, walking to their cars. John is standing beside me, and Peter is looking at me like we’re the only two people here. Anywhere.

It’s John’s voice that makes me break away. “What are you doing, Kavinsky?” John says, shaking his head. “This is pathetic. You treated her like garbage and now you decide you want her back?” Part of me feels relieved that John’s discontentment is targeted at Peter and not me.

“Stay out of it, Sundance Kid,” Peter snaps. To me he says softly, “You promised you wouldn’t break my heart. In the contract you said you wouldn’t, but you did, Covey.”

I’ve never heard him sound so sincere, so heartfelt. “I’m sorry,” I say, my voice whisper-thin. “I just can’t.”

 

 *****  
******

 

I don’t look back at Peter as I get into the car, but his necklace is still dangling from my fist. At the last second I turn around, but we’re too far away; I can’t see if Peter’s still there or not. My heart is racing. What would I regret losing more? The reality of Peter or the dream of John? Who can’t I live without?

I think back to John’s hand on mine. Lying next to him in the snow. The way his eyes looked even bluer when he laughed. I don’t want to give that up. I don’t want to give up Peter, either. There are so many things to love about them both. Peter’s boyish confidence, his sunny outlook on life, the way he is so kind to Kitty. The way my heart flips over every time I see his car pull up in front of my house.

I didn’t share enough with John to be able to make such a list. But should I choose Peter simply because he is familiar? Things are easier with John. But it is not a lazy easy. It’s more like… we fit together.

We drive in silence for a few minutes, and then, looking straight ahead, John says, “Did I even have a shot?”

My head snap towards him so quickly that I almost slap his face with my hair. “What? Of course you did. You do. I could fall in love with you so easily,” I whisper. “I’m halfway there already.” His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “You’re so perfect in my memory, and you’re perfect now. It’s like I dreamed you into being. Of all the boys, you’re the one I would pick.”

“But?”

“But…I’m still not over Peter.”

He sighs a defeated kind of sigh that hurts my heart. “Goddamn it, Kavinsky.”

“It’s not… I’m not choosing him.” I can see hope being born again in his eyes, but his hand is still really tight around the wheel. “I’m just saying that… I need time. I don’t want to start something with you if half of my mind is still with him. Please don’t hate me.”

“Hate you? I could never hate you, Lara Jean. Not if I tried. Not if you were awful to me. So how could I resent you for something that makes perfect sense?”

My heart just melts. This boy… as I told him, it’s like I dreamed him into being.

“I will wait for you,” he whispers, putting a strand of hair back behind my ear. The brush of his fingers feels so nice.

“Don’t.”

“What?” He looks both hurt and confused.

“I don’t want you to wait for me. Because it’s not fair. You can’t stop living your life because of me. I will come back to you as soon as things are truly over with Peter. If you have moved on then, I will understand.”

“Moved on? How could I move on if I know that you’ll come back to me?” He’s not smiling, but his eyes never looked so blue.

“I’m sorry we didn’t get to go to that eighth grade formal.”

And then John Ambrose McClaren says one last thing, a thing that makes my heart swell. “I don’t think it was our time then. I guess it isn’t now, either.” John looks over at me, his gaze steady. “But one day maybe it will be.”

 

 *****  
******

 

My desk has never been so tidy. My books are in a neat pile, all my pens are in their pot, my laptop is neatly shut and tidied on one side. The rest is empty.

Nearly.

Because on the empty space are the heart locket and the snow globe. Both different but so thoughtful gifts.

The necklace that I wanted for so long. That Peter probably saw me observe it some day, with envy in my eyes. He remembered this entire time, and he bought it even though it was so expensive. I don’t know how many hours he had to work with his mother to pay for it. But I also remember him asking for it back, and only changing his mind today, as I was going to enter another boy’s car.

The snow globe. Who is probably not at all expensive, but so much more precious. It contains the perfect image of a perfect memory. Did John think about me straight away when he saw it? Did it make him feel the way it makes me feel? Or did he get it because he knows me that well?

I want to try things with John. But it hurts so much to let go of Peter. He is perfect too in his own way. And he was good to me. But I must face the reality that it doesn’t work as well as I hoped. That things just keep coming between us, and that we don’t seem able to face them together anymore.

It is the absolute kind of lonely. Feeling lonely in a relationship.

Even with all of this – John, Genevieve, Peter’s flickering loyalty, his possessive behavior… – I am still not sure that my heart won’t choose him in the end.

The only way to know for sure, the only way to possibly move on, is to talk to him. If we are going to have a break, it should be a clean one.

So I text him to meet me in the tree house, tomorrow after school. If he shows, we can work things out. One way or the other. If he doesn’t show, I’ll know.

Either way, I’ll know where I stand.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

I’m lying down on my back on the tree house, looking out the window. The sun is still high in the sky, and I can feel it warm my legs. Tomorrow, no more tree house. I’ve barely thought about this place, and now that it’s disappearing, I’m sad. It’s like all childhood toys, I suppose. It doesn’t become important until you don’t have it anymore. But it’s more than just a tree house. It’s good-bye, and it feels like the end of everything. An era is ending. The group of friends that came back for the time capsule doesn’t exist anymore.

Why? Because we grew apart? Because of teenage love stories that ended badly?

I am feeling extremely nostalgic suddenly. I wish I could have it back. Trevor, John and Peter bickering. Genevieve and I sharing secrets. Chris discovering her moody teenage self. With Margot this side of the planet. Before the hot tub video. Before the love letters. I was easier then.

 

***  
****

 

“Covey?” Peter’s voice calls up to me from outside, down below.

I sit up. “I’m here.”

He climbs up the ladder quickly, ducking so his head doesn’t hit the ceiling. He crawls over to the tree-house wall opposite from me, so we are sitting on either side.

“They’re bulldozing the tree house tomorrow,” I tell him.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. They’re going to put up a gazebo. You know, like in The Sound of Music?”

Peter squints one eye at me. “Why did you call me over here, Lara Jean? I know it wasn’t to talk about The Sound of Music.”

“I know about Genevieve. Her secret, I mean.”

“I know. She told me.”

My heart squeezes uncomfortably. Of course they talked about it. I can’t help but wonder if he isn’t spending more time with her now than he was with me when we were together.

“So you understand, Covey? Why she needed me?”

Part of me does. Really. If that had happened to me, I probably would have wanted to go back to the safe and familiar place that Peter represents. But at the same time… “Not really. I understand why she came to you. She is clearly still in love with you. But she has other friends. The fact that you would let her drag you into this shows how much you still care for her.”

“Covey…”

“That’s fine. I don’t blame you for it. I could never blame you for _caring_. But you could still have helped reach out to someone else. You could still have put me first. You didn’t trust me with this secret even when you saw it was breaking me.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that it wasn’t like that?” He sounds desperate, almost. I think he understands that I am breaking up with him. But he thinks it is about that one thing, when it isn’t.

Looking at him so hurt gets to me, and it’s more difficult to speak. I made up my mind. So it shouldn’t be so hard to let him go. Yet, I am fighting against myself to not fall on my knees and beg him to take me back.

“The other day, at the spring fair, you said that I don’t want to have a number one guy. The thing is, I do. More than anything. I just don’t think it can be you. Because if we face the truth, you don’t make me feel special. I’ve always felt like second best. I believe you when you say it’s not how you see things, but it’s still how I feel. Genevieve was always between us. It’s as much my fault as it is yours. I couldn’t let her go either… It doesn’t matter that we loved each other, if we loved each other… it just wasn’t enough.”

I’m full on crying now. Because this is it. I think I was in love with him. Or nearly there anyway. And I really do wish we could make it work. Maybe if we tried, we could. But it shouldn’t be such hard work, should it?

“Lara Jean… you are special. So special. You are the girl that I…” Whatever he was going to say, I can on his face the moment he changes his mind. Instead, he says: “It was easier for me to default back to what I knew. I think maybe I was scared.”

My breath catches. “Of what?”

“Of disappointing you.” Peter looks away. “I know sex is a big deal to you. I didn’t want to mess it up. You’re so innocent, Lara Jean. And I have all this shit in my past. But never meant for it to make you feel like that. Like I didn’t care for you more than for anyone else.”

“I know you didn’t.”

“Don’t talk like it’s doomed already.”

“I don’t mean to. The first isn’t necessarily the last, but it will always be the first, and that’s special. Firsts are special. You know that. You will always be special to me.”

“Lara Jean, don’t do this. I can make you happy. I know I can.”

“I’m sure you could. But I won’t hold my breath anymore.”

“Covey… Tell me what you wish for. I’ll get it for you. Give me another chance.”

“Peter, stop. But I don’t think getting back together now would be wise. I think we need time apart.”

“Like a break?”

“Like a break-up. If we are meant to be, we will find our way back to each other. If not, we shouldn’t hold on.”

I open my hand. The heart locket is in it. I try to give it back to Peter, but he shakes his head, looking sadder than ever.

“Keep it.”

 

***  
****

 

I know Kitty noticed me and John leaving the tree house. I also know that she has this fantasy about us getting back together. I knew it was a bad idea to let her get attached to Peter.

But she doesn’t ask any question when I get back in the house. Or at any point, really.

If he notices anything, my dad doesn’t say anything either.

The evening carries on without any mention of Peter. Like many evenings before. But this time feels different. Because this is going to be what it’s like from now on. Peter is not a part of my daily life anymore. And it’s a choice I made.

I feel empty.

 

I sort of want to tell Margot. But tell her what? That I broke up with Peter weeks ago, but that only now it feels for real and forever? That would be childish.

And I don’t know how to put words on the John situation. Because it’s both nothing and everything. We are not a couple, and we may never be. But he is also the reason I’m not going back to Peter.

I cry a bit that night. It’s not uncontrollable sobs as a broken heart can create. Like that day we broke-up after I saw him with Genevieve. It’s quiet tears that carry with them more sadness and melancholia than pain and despair. They are tears of acceptance.

It’s the last stage of grief, isn’t it?

 

***  
****

 

Around 11 p.m., I hear a knock on my window. It’s Chris. I know even before looking. I open it for her. She waltzes in, red cheeks, bright eyes and happy smile.

“LJ, you will never believe what… Oh, shit… are you alright?” I am not crying anymore, but there are obviously traces of it left on my face.

I nod. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Cut the crap. What happened?”

“Peter and I… it’s over. For real this time.”

Chris sighs and come to wrap her skinny arms around me. She holds me tight and then she lets go. “Is it because of my evil cousin?” she asks, sitting on my bed.

“Not really, no.”

I don’t know what spots on my face or in my voice, but there is a sudden mischief in her eyes. “Wait a minute… would that have anything to do with a certain former friend of ours that suddenly reappeared in your life?”

I can feel my face properly heat up, which is probably why she doesn’t believe me when I deny it.

“Don’t beat yourself up about it,” Chris says. “You’re not the first girl to drop a boy for someone else.”

“It’s not like that. John and I are not together.”

“Why not?”

“Because I like him.”

“Oh, yeah, that makes perfect sense,” Chris replies, voice full of sarcasm.

“What I had with Peter was intense. He’s still in my head. I don’t… I don’t want to turn John into a rebound thing.”

Chris leans a bit forward. “Does that mean you want me to find you a rebound?” she asks before winking at me.

“Thanks, but I’m going to pass on this one.”

Her smile grows even bigger and she lies in my bed. “You’re sweet,” she says. “So… What are you going to do?”

“Get over Peter Kavinsky.”

“That should be easy enough. I’m sorry to say this, but he wasn’t right for you. I like him more than I ever thought I would, and he’s kind, loyal and he cares about you, but… You need someone who isn’t just going to challenge you socially, but also intellectually. That’s John. Or maybe it’s not, but it’s not Peter either.”

“You’re too harsh on him.”

“And you’re too nice on everyone.”

I don’t think that’s true, but I let it slide. “Chris?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s that thing I wasn’t going to believe?”

“It’s late.”

“Are you kicking me out?” she asks, falsely outraged.

“Of my bed, at least.”

She smiles and scoots away. “Can I crash on your floor? I’ll be gone before breakfast.”

“Sure.”

She grabs the sleeping bag from my closet, in a familiar forbidden routine. Maybe it’s not forbidden, actually. We just never asked permission.

I get under blankets and set my alarm whilst Chis switches off the light and slips inside the sleeping bag.

“Chris?”

“What now, Lara Jean?” she asks in a fake annoyed tone.

“What’s that thing I wasn’t going to believe?”

“Oh, that… I met a guy at this party. Can you guess what he told me?”

“I’m pretty sure I can’t.”

And then she tells me a very Chris-like-story. She might just be the distraction I needed. I’m not thinking about boys anymore. Not from the past, nor from the future. I’m not thinking about how school is going to feel awkward for a while. I’m just thinking about my friend and her crazy decisions. I’m never going to be as daring as Chris, but she lets me live a little of her wild life through her.

And even though I know it’s a lie, for a moment I daydream about being able to meet random people at random parties and living crazy experiences with them, instead of being goody two-shoes Lara Jean.

But it’s probably the point of any good bedtime story: making you dream.

 

As usual, she’s gone before I even wake up.

Chris. Typical stray cat. Always coming back for a fleeting moment, but impossible to domesticate.

I look at the floor. The sleeping bag is gone, too; probably back in the cupboard.

Because there is no ‘Chris situation’ to sort out before breakfast, I press the snooze button and grant myself a few more minutes of sleep.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

It takes Kitty a few days to work up the courage to talk to me about it. One evening, she knocks on my door. She looks both fierce and tiny, and it seems like such a Kitty thing.

“Hey, what’s up, Kitty?”

“Are you and Peter over?”

I’m not surprised. I knew she would ask me eventually. She is very close to Peter, and she is also very protective of him. But even though I expected that question, I still don’t know how to answer her. It sort of feels like telling a child that Mom and Dad still love her very much.

Or maybe I’m just being dramatic.

“We broke up, yes.”

“Forever?”

“What do you mean, ‘forever’?”

She shrugs. “You usually always end up getting back together.”

I didn’t realize my relationship with Peter was so messy. I guess it was. Probably because the way it started was blurry as well and it was difficult to know where I stood. “It’s different this time.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Lots of reasons.”

“Did he cheat on you?”

I hesitate for a second. Saying yes would purely be a lie. But saying no doesn’t feel like it’s entirely true either. But I know that this feeling I have partly comes from my insecurities, and Peter has always been so good to Kitty that I don’t want to ruin that. Not even a little.

“It’s nothing like that.”

“What is it, then?”

“I know it’s hard to understand, but sometimes it just doesn’t work.”

“I though you were in love with him.”

“I was.” Maybe I still am, on some level. “It’s not always enough.”

She snorts. “It’s because of the soldier guy, right?”

“You do know he’s not really a soldier, don’t you?”

“Is he your new boyfriend?”

“No, he’s not. He has nothing to do with this.” Okay, this one was clearly a lie. Even though I’m not with John, even though it might never happen, I did choose him over Peter. I closed on door just to leave another one open, even if I might never cross it.

Kitty looks at me like she doesn’t believe me. Like I’m full of it. She’s definitely the best Covey girl at reading people.

“Well, I like Peter better.”

“Okay.” I don’t want to get into that now. I don’t want to tell her that it makes sense that she would like Peter better since she hasn’t really spent any time with John. She might never like John more than Peter. And that’s fine. My thing with them absolutely doesn’t have to be her thing with them.

 

***  
****

 

My dad doesn’t ask. At all. He understood that Peter and I are not a thing, I think, but he is giving me space. I also think that he probably doesn’t know how to talk about it. We don’t really pour our feelings out to one another. For instance, I have never asked him what he thinks of Ms Rothschild. Not really. And even less what he feels about her.

We just pick up things from each other. A word here, a smile there, a grumpy silence at breakfast… we’re just great at reading each other.

We talked more when my mom was alive. Maybe that’s why Kitty is the best at non-verbal communication.

 

***  
****

 

After a few more days, I realize that I’m thinking about John more than I’m thinking about Peter. Much more. I don’t think I’m ready to start something with him, but I’m definitely ready to start hanging out again.

It’s just… I don’t know how to ask him that. To let me be around him, but to keep waiting. I don’t know if it’s cruel.

So I do the one thing I know how to do when my feelings are too much to carry or express.

I write John a letter.

 

_Dear John,_

_I was thinking about you today, and it made me feel like writing you a letter. It didn’t feel like a text, and email or even a phone call would allow me to express what I need to express._

_It’s crazy, when we think about it. How similar a letter and an email should be. And yet, they feel so different. Both to write and to receive. I know it’s a random thought, but I think that you’ll get it. You might be the only one to get it._

_Anyway. I’m not writing to you to discuss correspondence choices with you._

_First, I wanted to thank you for giving me the space I needed to think. I must tell you right away that I am not yet entirely over Peter. I’m not saying that to be cruel, on the contrary, I’m saying that because I don’t want you to hope and think that this letter is going to be something that it’s not._

_But Peter and I did break up, and it feels final this time._

_I know it’s been a few weeks, and your mindset might be different than it was when we last saw each other, and that would be fine. I am still not asking you to wait for me._

_However, I think it is time for me to take time to think about me, and figure out who I am. I can’t do that if I jump into a new relationship straight away, but I don’t want to do it by shutting me from the world, either._

_We managed it before. Spending time together, pushing feelings aside because we knew it wasn’t our time. And I miss that. Spending time together, I mean. I would like to do it again. If you want to. I know it’s selfish to ask you to take a step back._

_But if it’s something you would like to do, let me know. It doesn’t have to be something special. Maybe we could just go visit Stormy together. I think she’d like that._

_Lara Jean._

 

I chose my best paper and my best pen. The letter looks great. My handwriting is better than when I used to write secret love letters, and I put more heart into this one than I did in the other ones I sent John when I was still dating Peter.

It’s probably the best letter I wrote so far. Maybe not in content, though. It is not a love letter. But it gives me hope that someday, I will write the perfect love letter to a boy, or a man, and that I will be brave enough to send it. Maybe it will even be John.

I get downstairs to find some stamps, and I am happy to see that we don’t only have plain ones. I settle for one with two exotic birds on them.

My heart pounds as I post the letter. Which is a bit silly. Nothing will happen for days. Probably even a week.

 

***  
****

 

I am, however, pleasantly surprised by the U.S. post system; because I have a reply within three days. The letter is on my desk when I get home from school. I just love that he wrote back. A proper letter. It makes my heart squeeze.

It is a nice blue envelope that reminds me of John’s eyes. The stamp is a flower I’ve never seen before.

My hands shake slightly as I open the letter. John’s handwriting is neat and straight, like always. It’s steady.

 

**Dear Lara Jean,**

**Receiving your letter felt like a punch in the heart. In a good way. Do you know what I mean?**

**If must have read it a dozen time before being able to start writing a reply.**

**I do understand what you mean about the difference between emails and letters. Maybe it comes down to the fact that emails are everywhere nowadays. They can even be computer-generated. Whereas a letter takes time and engagement.**

**You really don’t have to thank me for giving you space. I told you. Anything you need. But it’s not just for you. I don’t want to start anything with you either if Peter is still somewhere in the mix. I want us, if there ever going to be an ‘us’, to start fresh. To give ourselves a proper chance.**

**You keep saying / writing that you are not asking me to wait for you. Here is the thing: I am not sitting in my bedroom looking at my phone, waiting for a text from you. As you said, I am not shutting myself from the world. I am living my life just as I was before we started seeing each other again. But I also don’t think I will be able to let you go if there is hope.**

**And your letter was oozing hope.**

**I know it’s mean, and it makes me an awful human being, especially since we’re all supposed to be friends, but I smiled when I read that you and Kavinsky are really over. Maybe because I think he was our only real obstacle, you know?**

**Now, all we need is time. If we’re lucky, it will make us move in the same direction and bring us together. If not, I still don’t mind waiting with you to see if it happens. Because you’re worth it.**

**And I miss us too. Whatever it was that we had. We did manage to put feelings aside. I wasn’t pining over you hoping for you and Peter to break up. I just didn’t let my brain go there. We can hang out together without hopes or expectations. Just as friends. I promise. I miss spending time with you, even in a nursing home.**

**But I have another activity in mind, if you feel like it. After the USO party, you mentioned that you would like to see me give a model UN speech. There will be a Model UN Saturday afternoon at my school. It’s a mock thing with other schools from the area. We came third last time. Maybe you would like to come and be my good luck charm?**

**Please don’t let me know. If sort of want to keep the suspense and see if you show up on Saturday. I really hope you do.**

**John Ambrose McClaren the Third (I know how much you enjoy using my full name)**

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

It is a simple request. And yet, I find it really hard not to tell John that I will be there on Saturday. I didn’t even hesitate for one second. I would want to see John in any circumstance, I think, but he is right. I would very much like to see him give a Model UN speech. I am sure he will be captivating.

I am giddy in anticipation the rest of the week.

 

On Friday, Lucas seems to notice. “Why are you so bubbly today?”

“I am always bubbly,” I reply.

“True. Then why are you particularly sparkling today?”

I smile at him, but I don’t answer. I don’t know what to say. I am going to see this guy who’s not really a friend, but who can’t be more for now, because of that other boy that’s not my boyfriend anymore? No, surely, I can’t say that.

Lucas’s eyes go wide. “Is it a _boy_?” I want to say no, but all I can do is blush, and his eyes grow even wider as a smile spreads on his lips. “Is it the guy from the game?”

“John,” I say. “But it’s not what you think.”

“Really?” There is so much sass in his voice that it makes me blush even harder, even though it really _isn’t_ what he thinks.

Chris joins us and seems to pick up on both our faces instantly. “What’s up?” she asks.

“Nothing,” Lucas answers. “Just Lara Jean and that John fellow.”

Chris’s face is nothing but surprise for a second, but then it shifts into one of her cheeky smiles. “McClaren? Do tell!”

I roll my eyes at them to give me more confidence than I actually have. “There is nothing to tell. He is just a friend.”

“Mmh… I don’t blush when I talk about my friends,” Lucas says to Chris. “Do you?”

“I don’t,” she answers. “And my friends don’t look at me like I’m a plate of fresh cookies,” she adds.

“Ooooh! Is that how Johnny looks at Lara Jean?”

“It is!”

“No, it’s not,” I intervene. “He is just a friend, and his name is John, not Johnny.” I don’t know why it bothers me that much that Lucas called him Johnny. Maybe because he once told me that I was the only person outside of his family to call him that. I guess I pride myself to have something with John Ambrose McClaren that’s just mine.

Which probably makes me a hypocrite.

“So you’re over Kavinsky?” Chris asks. She’s not one to beat around the bush or to be afraid to ask the difficult questions.

“We are broken up,” I answer.

“It’s not what I asked.” True. But it feels like both yes and no would be lies. The situation is not black or white. It’s a shade of grey, somewhere. I can see that Chris gets it. So she lets it go. I really love her.

 

That evening, I curl my hair. I always feel more confident with my hair curled, and it looks nicer once slept on. As much as I tell myself, and the world, that John and I are just friends, I also want to look pretty when I see him. I’m either vain or a liar.

“Why are you curling your hair?” Kitty asks, from the other side of my open door.

‘I have plans tomorrow,” I answer.

“With John?” Even Kitty is having false impressions about what’s going on. It doesn’t matter if I have feelings for John or not. I am not going to act on them.

“Yes.”

“Is it a date?”

“No.”

“Okay, then.” I am not entirely sure if she means that she believes me, or if she is giving me permission to go. I don’t need her permission, but that would be a very Kitty thing to do. “I hope you have fun,” she adds. Now _that_ takes me by surprise.

I turn around, but she’s gone.

 

When I get to John’s school on Saturday morning, it doesn’t feel like that time I came to watch his Model UN at my school. I don’t know this building. I don’t know any of the people around. This time, we are entirely on his territory.

I look for his name on the display board and I catch a breath when I find it. It’s nothing. It’s a coincidence, I know that. But it feels like fate.

He is representing South Korea.

Just like last time, the room is full of people, and it is already buzzing with people hustling notes around. I find a sit this time and I take it. Even though it was fun, I don’t want to be a page this time. If John makes a speech, I want to be able to give him my undivided attention.

From here, I can’t find him. I don’t know where he is, and he doesn’t even know I’m there. It feels strange. But thrilling.

It is easy to let yourself get lost in the frenzy of the room. My eyes keep following the pages, the notes being passed on from a country to another. It’s almost like dancing.

People take turn on stage, to makes speeches. Some are interesting, some are a bit draining. But all the speakers have an eloquence and a passion that I don’t often see in teenagers. It’s all pretend, but it doesn’t seem like it. They genuinely look like they are trying to change the world.

Then a boy in a grey suit gets on the stage and my attention shifts towards him instantly, almost subconsciously. It’s John.

I was right. He is outstanding. The best so far. I might be biased, but I drink his words. I look around, and people really seem to pay more attention to him than they did most speeches. What he says is inspiring, and how he says it is inspired. I realize two things about John Ambrose McClaren through his speech. He is a pragmatist and an idealist. I never knew those could go together.

By the end of this speech, I stop lying to myself. John and I are not going to happen any time soon. I am not there yet. That part was and still is true. But I want him. As much if not more than I sent him that first letter.

 

I thought he was the best. His team still doesn’t win, and I am probably as disappointed as they are, but they still place second and I am so proud of them. Him. I am proud of him. I don’t really care about the rest of the team.

Once the results are announced, the room starts to empty, one family at a time. But I stay. I can’t wait for the moment he realizes I came. When the crowd is reduced to a few groups of people here and there, I make my way towards his table. He is talking to the rest of his team, and I recognize one of them. It is the girl that stared at me intensely when I was in John’s car, before breaking up with Peter. Is there something between them? Am I allowed to wonder that? Would I be able to be upset if there were?

I am still a few feet away when he sees me. His face, already bright from their almost victory, lights up like a Christmas tree. It makes me feel priceless, that it would be for me. He says something to his group, and comes to meet me.

“You came!” For a second, I am sure he is going to hug me, but he stops himself. I sort of wish he didn’t.

“Of course, I came! Did you doubt I would?”

“I learnt the hard way not to take you for granted,” he says it as a joke with an easy smile that doesn’t really reach his eyes.

“You were amazing,” I say, changing the subject because I don’t know how to come back from what he said. “I knew I wanted to see you do a speech, but I didn’t know you would be that great! I can’t believe you didn’t win!”

“I’m sorry we lost. I really wanted to impress you by winning.”

“You didn’t lose, you came second.”

“It’s not winning.”

“It’s better than last time.”

He smiles. “That’s very true. Maybe you are my good luck charm after all.” It’s easy. It’s so easy to be near him. “Maybe if I knew you were here, I would have tried harder.”

“That was you holding back?”

He shrugs. “We can always find out next time.” This time his smile. “Okay, more seriously, I’m starving. Would you like to have lunch with me?”

“Sure!”

 

Lunch doesn’t feel like a date. It feels like spending time with him at the nursing home, or trying to win the assassin game. There is no pressure. It is exactly what I asked for in the letter. Just hanging out.

We talk about his speech and we discuss both the world and Korea. He asks me a lot of questions about the culture. I realize that I actually can’t answer all of them. He clearly did his research for today’s Model UN, and I feel like his knowledge on some things is wider than mine. “I never thought that I knew so little,” I say.

“I wouldn’t call it little,” he says. “I’m just asking really picky questions.”

“I thought I knew everything, though. I’m pretty sure I did… My dad does what he can, but… what if I forget?”

“You mean without your mom?” I nod. I was afraid he wouldn’t get it, because he has a stable family, but he does. “Lara Jean… Korea is not who your mother was. She, herself, was between two cultures. Not knowing everything about the country, or even forgetting things, doesn’t mean that you are betraying her memory.”

I could cry. It is something that I have been keeping inside for a long time. I never even mentioned it to Margot because I’m afraid she might have the same fear in her heart. I can’t tell Kitty, because she wouldn’t get it. She doesn’t remember mom. And Dad… as I said, he is doing his best. I don’t ever want him to feel like it is not enough. And here is John, putting the words I need on a problem I thought I couldn’t express.

“I don’t want to forget,” I whisper.

“Then don’t. Create your own story with your heritage. You mentioned once that your father said he would like for you and your sisters to go to Korea soon. It is probably what you need. Time there to reconnect with your distant family, the culture… get the answers to those questions of mine.” He has a faint smile on his face when he says the last part. He takes my hand in his and it doesn’t feel like he’s making a move. It feels like he’s supporting me. As if he could tell that the topic is making me emotional.

I want the conversation to get lighter, but I almost don’t feel ready to change the subject. So, instead, I tell him about al the plans I have for when I go to Korea. He tells me about the things he would want to do or visit, based on what he read during his research. We know we won’t go together, but we finish planning the perfect fake vacation to Korea.

At some point we do the math. We would need five months and two weeks, and over seventy thousand dollars to do everything on our list.

“But it would be so worth it,” John says.

“Totally, I say. Even the time in prison.”

“What?”

“For the bank we would have robbed to get there.”

“Right. Yes, that would be worth it too.” Then after a pause, he asks: “What sentence do you get for armed robbery?”

“No idea,” I admit. “Let’s look it up.”

“It’s fifteen years, apparently,” he says, putting his phone down. “Plus a $20,000 fine.”

“Do you think we would be able to pay that with the money we would have stolen?”

He laughs. It is a completely silly conversation, but I like how I could be open and true with him, that he truly listened to me and replied, and that it led us to that anyway.

Again, it’s easy with him. Not in a ‘let’s settle for easy’ way. In a ‘we get each other’ kind of way.

 

When it’s time to drive back home, I almost don’t want to, and that has nothing to do with the driving. When he tells me we should make plans, I am afraid he means a date. I am still not there yet, but I wouldn’t know how to tell him that after today. Maybe to him it felt like a date. But he doesn’t. He is going to visit Stormy in a fortnight and he wants me to go with him.

That, I can do. That doesn’t sound like a date. But it’s not impersonal either. We both love Stormy and we share very special memories there.

A day in a nursing home shouldn’t sound so exciting. But it does. It’s Stormy. It’s Johnny. I can’t wait.

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

_Dear John(ny),_

_I was at my desk, doing my homework, and I suddenly felt like writing you. Not that I have anything desperate to say. Just like that. I think it’s okay. I think you would be fine with it._

_I talked to mu dad about Korea. He said that it might not be possible this summer, but maybe before university. I think I would like that. A big event to celebrate the end of High School, and to clear my mind before the next big scary adventure._

_Which means that I still don’t know what we will do over the summer. Because of his job, my dad can’t take extended holidays, so it probably won’t be terribly exciting, but I know it will be nice. Hopefully, Margot will be with us._

_I realize that I told you about my summer, but I didn’t ask you about yours. Any nice plans for the summer?_

_As I said, I am going to be there for most of it, so if you are not gone for too long, maybe we’ll have time to hang out a little?_

_It’s going to be weird, and maybe not entirely appropriate, but I would be looking forward to that maybe more than actually going somewhere._

_Lara Jean._

 

**Dear Lara Jean,**

**It is okay. I am fine with it. Of course, I’m fine with it. You can write me anytime. About anything. I will always write back. No matter where life takes us.**

**It is actually nice. Receiving letters. It’s not really a thing anymore, so it feels special and precious every time. Or maybe it’s just because it’s for you.**

**Also, letters take effort. It is not as easy as sending an email, a text, or an emoji. Yes, I have friends who primarily communicate through emoji. I find this new era of communication fascinating. How different contexts require different forms of language, and that some ideas can now be better expressed with pictographs than words. I am not entirely sure how I feel about it, but it is an interesting thing to think about. Anyway, let’s stop the digression. Letters take effort. I am happy that someone puts that effort in for me, and it is great to put that effort in for someone. It feels meaningful. Much more than if I said any of it in a text. Do you know what I mean?**

**I think it’s great that you are planning on going back to Korea. Without having to rob a bank, I mean. The selfish part of my brain is happy that it won’t be for another summer. I get that you won’t go to Korea for just a weekend, and I would like to have the opportunity to see you this summer. Especially since I read the end of your letter. It isn’t weird. It isn’t inappropriate at all. I want to spend time with you too.**

**As I told you before, we only take vacations we can drive to. This summer will be ten days in Atlanta. I have never been to Georgia, so it will be a discovery. I know it doesn’t sound exciting with all these people going to Europe, or tropical islands somewhere, but I’m easy to please. And Atlanta has a rich cultural scene, so I will be able to stay busy.**

**I can’t wait to see you next week,**

**Johnny.**

 

I love that he signed Johnny. Actually, I love everything about his letter. He answers like a friend, but there are those hints in there that could classify it as a love letter.

And I like how his mind works. I love that he is happy with a holiday in a different city because of the cultural stage. I like how he turns a topic about emojis into a deep thought about communication. I like that he is intellectually challenging. Not especially in that letter, true, but in general.

I should ask my dad about plans for the summer. So I know what I can plan with John.

Which gives me the craziest idea. What if I actually made plans with him? Not just to see each other a coupe of times, but to go somewhere. Together. My dad will never let me go with just a boy, I know that, but maybe if some friends went with us? I could ask Chris and Lucas, and he could ask… whoever his friends are.

I realize that I don’t know much about his current life. I am excited to have so much to discover about him. It doesn’t even feel scary. Nothing has disappointed me so far.

I put his letter away in my hat box. There are all the letters I got back, a couple of souvenirs from when I was with Peter that I can’t get myself to throw away – no matter how it ended, we were still good together, and I think I can move on whilst cherishing what we had for what it was – and, neatly packed together with a satin ribbon, all the letters John ever sent me. It is what takes the most space in the box, now. All the envelopes have a different color, and I can almost recite what they hold just by looking at the color. That’s how much I read them.

 

When I arrive at the nursing home, I don’t see John’s car in the parking lot. It doesn’t surprise me. His drive is longer than mine. I don’t mind. I am happy to have a bit of alone time with Stormy.

“Lara Jean, dear!” she greets me with a smile.

“Hello Stormy.”

“I feared you were dead.”

“I know I haven’t been here in a while. I’m sorry. It’s nearly the end of school and I have a lot of work to do.”

“I have a desk that I never use. You could do some homework here. That’s the only good thing about this place. Whatever you need, you will find someone with the life experience to solve your problem. I can’t do math. At all. But Mr Pietrov can. He was a nuclear physicist, you know?”

“I didn’t know that,” I admit.

“Just because we end up in this place, doesn’t mean we didn’t have extraordinary lives!”

I laugh. “Of course not. Your life was nothing but extraordinary,” I agree. She smiles at me, visibly pleased with the comment. She taps the seat next to her and I come to sit next to her.

“What is new in your life, young lady?”

“Nothing much,” I say. “I am planning a holiday to Korea, but that’s for next summer.”

“Oh, yes. John mentioned that.”

“He did?” I didn’t know that John and Stormy were talking about me.

“I have to ask him news about you, otherwise I would never get any news.”

“It hasn’t been _that_ long,” I reply.

“Of course it wouldn’t feel like that for you,” she says. “You are young and you have a busy life. I am here, stuck with the aged and aging generation.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Stormy.”

“I was surprised, though, at how much he could tell me about your life recently,” she says. She used a neuter tone, as if she was just noting something. But I know that Stormy thought John and I would make a great couple even before knowing that we went to school together. Her question is not innocent.

“We have been in touch,” I reply.

“In touch,” she repeats. “What does that even mean, ‘in touch’?”

“We have been writing to each other.”

“How romantic,” she says. I open my mouth to tell her that it’s not like that, but it is. That’s the thing with John. Every interaction I have with him ends up being one of the most romantic of my life. And we have never been together. What would it be like? To be his girlfriend? Would it be just like that all the time? Would it be better?

“I am glad that there are some gentlemen left,” she adds, and she looks proud that one of those gentlemen is her great-grandson.

That’s when there is knock and the door, and John enters Stormy’s flat.

“Speak of the devil,” she says, and John’s eyes find mine instantly, as if he’s assessing the situation. I smile at him. “Lara Jean was telling me about your epistolary affair.”

John rolls his eyes. “It’s not an affair Grandma.”

She hums, but she doesn’t look like she believes him. He looks at me and rolls his eyes.

I am afraid that Stormy is going to make things weird, but she lets it go. Instead, we spend the afternoon going through old photos of Stormy. She decided to put some order in all the souvenirs she collected in her life. She has hilarious stories to go along with the pictures and I can’t help but think that one day, I wish I have a life that filled.

Sometimes, she looks at a picture and says that it’s a story for another day. A day without John. His face winces every time. I get it. I wouldn’t like to know that my grandmother has, or even had, a sex life. I don’t even want to know that about Stormy.

At some point, Stormy says that she must have pictures of John when she was little, and she disappears in her room.

“Okay, you’re not allowed to make fun of whatever she gets out of that room,” he warns me.

“I’m sure you were a lovely little boy.”

“I don’t know. Remember, I used to be the weird kid with the stutter.” It pains me that he would think like that. I liked the kid with the stutter. I am happy for him that he could overcome it, but I don’t want him to think that it is something he should be ashamed of.

“I had a crush on you back then,” I remind him.

He smiles. “I know. I got a love letter.” He wonks at me and I smile back. I used to be embarrassed by the letter. Not anymore. Not since we have been writing to each other so regularly. “A love letter that you swore to give me back, but never did,” he points out.

“So you still want it back?” I ask.

“It would be nice. But I understand why you’re keeping it. It’s fine.”

“It’s not. You’re right. I promised. I’ll send it back with my next letter.”

His eyes smile more than his mouth when he answers. “I’ll believe it when I have it in my hand.”

He walks to the window and looks at the garden. I join him. It’s nearly the end of June, but there are still some of the spring flowers. John looks miles away.

“What are you thinking about?” I ask.

“Snow.” My stomach clenches. John lets his arm fall gently and the back of our hands brush. He loosely laces his fingers with mine. It’s nothing. It’s not even hand holding. But it’s enough to make my heart race. My eyes fall on our joined fingers and when I look up, he is looking at me. Really looking. Like he is searching for something in my eyes.

I don’t know if he found what he was looking for or not, because Stormy calls out for him, and he is gone.

My fingers are cold, now.

Stormy brought four pictures of a tiny John Ambrose. He was insanely cute. On one of them, he is dressed as a batman. On the second, it is probably his first day of school, and he looks tiny next to his school bag. On the third, he is with his sisters and they are chasing each other in a park. On the fourth one, he is in front of a birthday cake. His face is lit by the candles and he looks so happy that it warms my heart. He looks different now, but we can definitely tell that it’s him. Same navy-blue eyes, same dimples when he smiles, same nose.

“Can I keep this one?” I ask.

“No,” he says.

“Please!”

But he takes it from me. “When I get my letter back.”

 

When we leave, Stormy makes us promise to come back. Together. I can see in her eyes that she isn’t going to let it go.

“Stormy really wants this to happen,” I say as we get to the parking lot. He doesn’t ask what I mean.

“She’s not the only one,” he answers. The way he looks at me, I’m sure he’s going to kiss me. But he doesn’t.

“John…”

“I know. It’s not our time yet. And if you decide that you want to be just friends, that’s all we’ll be. If you decide that you don’t want to see me anymore, I’ll respect that. But in the meantime, as long as you’re unsure, I am going to remind you once in a while that I like you. Really like you. And that we are great together.”

“I know we are,” I say, and butterflies erupt from my stomach just when his eyes start sparkling.

He hugs me, holding me tight against him. If he kisses me now, I’ll let him. But he still doesn’t. He just smiles, says goodbye and gets in his car.

 

When his car disappears, I realize that even though I was sure to be ready for John, I am not. He knew. How does he read me so easily? And why is he so patient? It’s very overwhelming to know that he finds me worth it.

As soon as I get home, I will send him the first letter back. It belongs to him, and it also feels like the least I can do. To let him know that he isn’t waiting in vain. That there is still a girl that loves him in Virginia, even if she doesn’t know how to deal with her feelings at the moment.

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Dear Lara Jean,**

**Thank you for returning the first letter to me. I read it again, and I was once more very impressed by how literate and in touch with your feelings you were back then.**

**Am I allowed to say that it felt even more special to read it now that I know where it led us? It was overwhelming the first time, but now it’s, I don’t know, precious?**

**Anyway, _I_ , for one, keep my promises. Without delay. Here is the photo I said I would give you when you returned the letter. The timing is kind of perfect because the birthday boy from the picture is having another birthday soon. I don’t know if you remember, but my birthday happens to be just before the summer break. I will be having a birthday party on the last day of school. It would mean a lot to me if you came.**

**It will mainly be friends from my new school, and I understand that it isn’t the most pleasant feeling in the world to be surrounded only by strangers, and I can’t realistically ignore all my guests to be with you all evening, regardless of how much I want it, but I was thinking you wouldn’t have to come along. For obvious reasons, I don’t think it would be wise to invite the old gang. But that day in the tree house, I could see that you and Chris still have a strong bond and I’ve always liked her. Do you think I should invite her? If she’s not still upset about me tagging her, of course.**

**If the prospect of spending time with people you don’t know is not one you find appealing, I totally get it. Maybe we could do something else that weekend and celebrate my birthday, just you and me? Maybe we could call it a date?**

**Love,**

**John.**

 

I’m pretty sure it’s not healthy for my heart to be beating so fast.

With or without Chris, I’ll go to his birthday party. To see him smile. To have a glance at his life. To meet his friends. To see how he introduces me. To know if he told them about me. I remember being at his school once and this boy… Avery? Knowing about the two of us spending time with Stormy.

I’ll also definitely do something just with him. We have been hanging out. We have been to a USO party. We schemed. We visited Stormy. But we never went on a date. I am more than happy to make plans with him and call it that. Would it feel different than usual?

And there is his greeting. I know it’s just a greeting. But the word makes me feel warm inside.

If we go on a date, will we be in a relationship then?

After reading the letter for the fourth time, I open my hat box to put it away with the other ones. I look at the pile of letters that John and I have been exchanging lately. Who am I kidding? We already are in a relationship.

It’s the opposite of how Peter and I started. With Peter, we were pretending to be a couple, but it was hollow and fake. With John, it’s everything a relationship should be, we just refuse to call it that.

_I._

I just refuse to call it that.

Suddenly, I know what I want. And I know how to get it. I get down to the kitchen and start scavenging the baking books. There is a very specific recipe I’m looking for.

 

Three days before the end of school, I am sitting on John Ambrose McClaren’s porch. I wanted to surprise him at his school, like he did for me on my birthday, but even by skipping last period, I couldn’t make it on time. I had to get home first to get the cake from the fridge.

So I am waiting for him to get home, heart like a hummingbird. I knocked, to avoid looking like a stalker, but nobody’s home. It’s a relief, I think. I want this moment to be just his and mine. I wait, and I hope that he’ll be the first one home.

Then I realize that it was a stupid plan. It’s his birthday. What if he gets out with his friends after school? What if he is meeting his family somewhere? Should I have texted him? That would have ruined the surprise, for sure, but at least I wouldn’t have waited for nothing.

I decide to give it another fifteen minutes before calling him.

 

That won’t be necessary, because suddenly, his car appears. When he gets out of it, he looks happy and surprised.

“Lara Jean? What are you doing here? You do realize that the party isn’t for three more days, right?”

I stand up and I smile back at him. “I know. I wanted to surprise you on your actual birthday.”

“I am not complaining,” he answers, still smiling. “What’s in the box?”

“It’s… hum… it’s something you wished for once,” I say.

His eyes sparkle. “Please tell me it’s a peanut butter chocolate cake with my name written in Reese’s Pieces,” he says with a jokey tone. I don’t laugh, though, because it’s exactly what’s in the box. His eyes go wide and so does his smile. “No! You made me that cake again?”

I nod. “I know it’s not as thoughtful as the gift you got me, but…”

“Lara Jean, are you kidding me? It’s better. It’s perfect. As you said, it’s something I wished for once. I almost asked you for one, I just didn’t how to without being rude. I love it. Thank you.” I think it’s the most heartfelt thank you I was ever given.

“You’re welcome,” I answer and my voice comes out breathy, almost like a whisper.

He looks at me and he looks both moved and determined. He hugs me like he did on the parking lot on my birthday. His body is warm, strong and steady against mine.

When John lets go, I don’t. Instead, I whisper in his hear “I think I’m ready.”

“For what?”

“Kiss number three.”

The smile that spreads on his face is so warm that it could melt a glazier. Then he leans in. Kiss number one was a rough draft. Kiss number two was a surprise. Kiss number three is perfect. It’s soft and lingering, and it makes my heart race. I almost forget how to breathe.

When he lets go, I lose balance for a second, but his arms are still around me, and I remember that day in the snow when he kept me from falling. It is a silly thought, but it makes me fell safe. Like he’s always going to be there to catch me.

“Better than that kiss in the basement?” he asks, and this time I can see in his eyes that it’s entirely a joke.

“I’m not sure,” I joke back. “I think we’ll have to try again for me to decide.”

“Sure. But not now.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I really want to try that cake now and see if it’s as good as I remember.” I feel nervous, suddenly. What if it’s not? Things have that tendency of always be better in our memories. Especially childhood memories. “I’m sure it will be,” he says as if he could read my mind.

We sit under his porch and I tell him that I only brought a knife. I know that this time, his forks and plates aren’t in a box. But he asks me if we can eat it here, with our hands, like last time. I tell him it’s fine by me.

It’s a really nice moment. It is partly nostalgic, as we are re-enacting a scene from what feels like another life, it’s partly comfortable because we became such good friends lately, and it’s partly overwhelming because of that new dimension we just gave to our relationship.

When we’re done eating, I get some wipes out of my bag and we clean our hands.

“You still have enough cake to share with your family,” I comment.

“I don’t think I want to share,” he replies. I smile at him and he reaches for my hand and butterflies erupt from my stomach. “Lara Jean, my parents are going to be home soon. It’s your decision if you want to come inside and wait to meet them, or if you want to postpone that to another time. I am _definitely_ not trying to hide you, but I should also warn you that they can be a bit much.” His thumbs are drawing circles on my palms and it’s hard to focus.

“I think… I think maybe next time?”

“Sure.”

He walks me back to my car and opens the door for me. This boy is just… too much. Did I really not simply dreamt him into being? He doesn’t let go of my hand, though, and gets as close as he can.

“Thank you,” he whispers. “That was the best birthday present I ever got.”

“It’s just a cake.”

“It’s not just a cake. Not only is it mind-blowingly good, it’s also a thought. But I wasn’t talking about the cake.” I kiss him again. How could I not? It’s as sweet, and magical, and Disney as before.

“Will I see you?” he asks. “At the party.”

“Absolutely. And I think you should invite Chris. Not just for me. I think she would be happy about being invited, even if she probably won’t admit that at loud.”

“I will, then. And… how… how should I introduce you to my friends?”

“Do you mean secret identity?”

He laughs. “If you want to. But I meant… should you introduce you to them as my girlfriend?” I feel my mouth fall slightly open and he winces. “Sorry. Too soon?”

“No! Absolutely not. I’d be delighted to officially be your girlfriend.”

He gets his glazier-melting-smile again and kisses me one last time before I go.

 

When I get home, I’m still walking on clouds. I make it to my room and I fall on my bed. My cheeks are probably going to start hurting soon from all the smiling.

My phone rings and I can’t help but hope it’s him. It’s Chris. I pick up instantly.

“Hello?”

“LJ, why is John McClaren inviting me to his birthday party?”

“Because I told him he should.”

“I have plans for Friday night.”

“Nothing you can’t cancel, I’m sure. Please come, it will be more fun with you.”

“It’s exactly what I thought. So I changed my plans already. But I told John I would be taking a plus one.”

That scares me a little. Chris friends wan be… a handful. “Who are you bringing?”

“Lucas.”

“What? Why? He doesn’t even know John.”

“Exactly. He needs to meet him, so we can make fun of you for not seeing that he’s perfect for you.”

“Well… about that…”

“No way! Lara Jean Covey, are you and John McClaren doing dirty things together?”

“No, we are not. But… we kissed today. And he asked me to be his girlfriend.”

“Aaww. You two are adorable dorks made for each other. It will be even easier to make fun of you.”

“Thanks Chris. That’s exactly the love and support I need.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. So I’ll be at your house tomorrow after school to help you pick your party outfit. You need to look your best for your first appearance as Mrs John McClaren, right?”

 

_Dear Johnny (I told you I was sure your girlfriend would call you that),_

_It’s late, and I should be sleeping, but I can’t stop reliving the events from today in my head. It was perfect. It was so us it’s almost surreal. And because I didn’t answer before: yes, it was infinitely better than the first kiss we had, playing spin the bottle. It was also better than the kiss we had after the USO party. I didn’t ask, but I hope it was for you too._

_I can’t wait for your party (hopefully you will receive this letter before then). Not only will I get to spend time with you, but I will get to know your friends and have a better look at what your life is now. Part of me feels like I know you so well, and part of me feels like we are still complete strangers. I am so looking forward to all those steps that are going to take us closer and closer, until we really know one another._

_Plus, I am looking forward to being introduced as your girlfriend._

_Love,_

_Lara Jean._

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

Chris is helping me getting ready for John’s birthday party. “No, you don’t want to wear that.”

“Oh, come on. Why not?”

“Because you want to look like his girlfriend, not his grandma’s card buddy. Which you also are, by the way. So… yep, you might want to make sure that it is _not_ what he thinks about when he looks at you. Just saying…”

Okay, now I’m panicking a bit. “You really think that’s what he thinks when he looks at me?”

Chris rolls her eyes at me. “The boy was ready to wait for you until retirement, and he kissed you, didn’t he? I think you’re good. Still. Let’s get him excited to see you. In all possible ways.” She wiggles her eyebrows and I ignore her.

Even though, if I’m honest with myself, I would like that. I would like to take his breath away. “Okay, so what do I wear?”

Chris chooses an outfit that I am oddly fine with. Objectively, it is sexy. Not enough that I would feel uncomfortable, though. And it looks like me. I love that she knows me so well.

Then I remember that John likes it when I wear my hair in braids, so I go to Kitty’s room to see if she would braid it for me.

“Is it for soldier boy’s party?” she asks flipping the pages of her magazine.

“It is.”

She rolls her eyes at me and makes a rude noise, but she puts her magazine down and sits up. “What kind of braids do you want?”

“Something sexy,” Chris answers for me. Kitty nods as if she perfectly understood what it means and I let her work her magic. Then Chris asks: “So I guess you’re not a big fan of McClaren?”

I can’t see Kitty, but I hear her respond: “He’s not Peter.”

“No, he’s not,” Chris answers. Their words imply that they agree, but it is clear in their tones that they mean something drastically different. “You can’t not give him a chance just because Peter was nice to you.”

“Why not?”

“Look, John is nice. I’m sure you’ll like him when you’ll get to know him. But even if he was a dick to you…” I cringe a bit at Chris using that language in front of Kitty. But Kitty probably didn’t even notice. “…it wouldn’t matter. What really matters is how they make Lara Jean feel. Peter, John… I don’t really care. But if Lara Jean thinks that John is best for her, then he’s best for me.”

I stare at Chris. I never knew that’s how she was feeling. Her little monologue feels like the definition of loyalty.

Her phone buzzes and she looks at it. “It’s Lucas. He’s here. I’ll go let him in.”

She disappears just as Kitty starts pinning the braid. “I miss Peter,” she says. Her voice is sad and tiny, and suddenly Kitty is not that fierce teenager anymore, but this child who needs stability and who is still adjusting to her sister moving half the world away.

“It’s alright for you to miss him,” I say. “I miss him too, sometimes. And I miss the way we used to be, the three of us. It’s complicated for Peter and me to spend together right now, but that doesn’t mean that you can’t see him.”

“I don’t want to do something that would make you sad,” she says, letting go of my hair. I think she’s done.

I turn around and I tell her: “You spending time with Peter will not make me sad. Do you want me to talk to him for you?”

She shakes her head. “I have his number. He gave it to me once and said that I could always call him if I had a problem.”

“That sounds like Peter.”

“Would that be okay if I called him.”

“Of course.”

“Okay. I might do that, then.”

“Okay.”

 

As I get down the stairs to meet Chris and Lucas, I think about my discussion with Kitty. It was nice to talk about Peter and be reminded of how good he was to Kitty. I don’t feel sad – nor angry – anymore when I think about Peter. The wound is closed now, and all that’s left are good happy feelings. I hope he found the same sort of closure on our story and that we can maybe be friends in September.

“Ooh, LJ, you look nice!” Lucas says.

“Thank you!” I say, blushing slightly.

“Something is missing, though,” Chris says.

“What is?”

“You should wear the lipstick I got you for your birthday!”

“You said it was for when I want to be bad.”

“Birthday party at your boyfriend’s,” Lucas says. “I think Chris has a point.”

I smile at them, and I go back upstairs to get the lipstick. Maybe I do want to be a little bad tonight.

 

When we arrive at John’s house, the party has already started. We enter the house and I don’t recognize any face. I feel relieved that I came with Chris and Lucas. This feels like uncharted territory. I am the outsider. All these people are friends with John. They know him. Probably better than me. I know things about him they don’t, but they know _more_ about him. It is scarier than I thought it would be.

In his living room, I spot the girl from his Model UN team. I completely forgot about her until now. I don’t worry about her being into John anymore, because a boy I don’t know has an arm wrapped around her waist and she is leaning against him.

I thought I would feel relief, but I don’t. Not because it’s not enough, just because I realize that I wasn’t actually worried.

Then I see him. On the other side of the wide-open patio door. He is talking to a couple of people that I don’t know – again, I don’t know anyone – and a girl puts a hand on his arm in a coquet way. The girl is gorgeous. I mean, she is probably the most beautiful person that I’ve seen who wasn’t on the other side of a screen. And she is standing close enough to John to be in his space. She is looking at him with big charming eyes. There is no doubt in my mind that she is flirting.

John is talking to her and he is laughing.

I am waiting for that familiar feeling I used to have when Peter was talking to Genevieve. But it never arrives. I can see in his posture that he likes her, but he doesn’t _like_ her. She isn’t a threat to me.

Or maybe I don’t see anything on his posture. Maybe I just trust him. Maybe he makes me feel like I’m enough. Like I’m above all the other girls.

His eyes spot me and there is no trace of guilt in there, like Peter would have sometimes when I would see him talk to Genevieve, as if he felt guilty. Instead, John’s face goes soft, and warm, and happy.

He says something to the girl without even looking at her and starts walking towards me. My heart beats faster in anticipation.

When he arrives to us, I am sure he is going to kiss me but he doesn’t. Instead, he wraps his arms around me and pulls me in for a tight hug. It’s nice, but it’s confusing. Why didn’t he kiss me? That’s one of the things I have been waiting for all day.

I try to not read anything into it and I say “Happy fake birthday.”

“Thank you. Chris, you came!”

“What can I say? Someone says party, and I have to check it out.”

John has an easy laugh. “Fair enough. And you must be Lucas.”

“Yeah, nice to meet you.”

“You too. Lara Jean told me a lot about you!”

Chris smiles and says “Did she tell you that he got a letter too?”

John looks surprised for a moment. “No. She didn’t.”

John looks at Lucas, and I can’t read his face. I’m not entirely sure what he’s thinking. Lucas is the first one to understand the situation, and he dismisses it quickly. “Don’t worry, man. No hard feeling here. We’re just friends. Trust me, LJ and me, it could never work.”

John relaxes. How did I not think about warning John about it beforehand? Tell him about the letter, but also assure him that Lucas is by no way jealous that I have a boyfriend.

Two boys suddenly appear next to us. They look at John with lopsided smiles and mischievous eyes. One of them is tall, dark hair, brown skin, and happy smile. I recognize him as Avery from that lacrosse game I never got to see. The other one is around my size and has the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen. They both seem to be expecting something from John. “Guys, what do you want?” John asks, but I can hear in his voice that he perfectly knows what they want.

“Stop being rude and introduce us to the ‘perfect girlfriend’,” Avery says. There is something pleasing about being referred to like that by his friends. Suddenly, I feel shy and nervous. I want them to like me, and I want to live up to the expectation that John created for me. I want him to be as proud to introduce me to his friends as I am proud to introduce him to mine.

“Okay, so, these guys are Ted, but we call him Avery – long story – he is a lacrosse star in our school, and that is Ted, too, which is a bit confusing, but we just call him Ted. He hates when people call him Teddy Bear, or when we mention to strangers that he is in Chess Club. Teds, this is Chris, we go way back, and she is probably the most badass person I’ve ever met, this is Lucas, who I don’t really know yet, but if he can cope with Chris that already says a lot about him, and that is Lara Jean. My girlfriend.”

I just love the dynamic between the three of them. It’s been less than a minute, but everything in the way they stand around each other, the tone they use, and their slight banter show a nice bond between them. I also love how he introduced my friends first.

We talk a little bit, all six of us, and John’s friends are funny. They are interesting and interested. Chris and Lucas seem to be having a good time. Soon, John’s hand is on my back and I can’t help to notice that the gorgeous girl from earlier is staring.

Some friends of John arrive at the party and he leaves us to go greet them. Ted and Avery take us to the kitchen and get us drinks. I don’t want to drink alcohol because I don’t want my dad’s first impression about me dating John to be me drinking at a party. I ask for a soda and they just give me one, without that look that Peter’s friend would give me sometimes. Actually, Ted – chess Ted, not Avery Ted – isn’t drinking either.

 

After a while, Lucas disappeared somewhere, Chris is playing a very complicated drinking game using a lot of cards, Ted goes to the bathroom or something, and I am left with Avery. It doesn’t feel awkward like it can sometimes with strangers.

“How long have you been friends with John?” I ask.

“It depends what you mean by friends,” he answers. “We have been in the same friendship group pretty much since he joined our school. But I’d say we’ve been real friends for a couple of years. Why? Do you think it’s odd, a brain and a jock?”

“I don’t think you’re a jock. And I don’t think you’re not a brain either.”

He laughs. “You’re nice. I’m glad you and John got in touch again. He seems happy.” I nod shyly. I’m not quite sure how to answer that. “So how did this start again? Was it the tree house first or the nursing home?”

It surprises me that John would tell him about the tree house but not the letters. I love that he kept those private. “It was the tree house first.”

“Right. Lure him with nostalgia and pin him down with family bonding,” he says seriously but his eyes are laughing. “I like your style, Lara Jean.”

“Well… Clearly, it works.”

“True. I’m gonna change my whole game.”

“So why do they call you Avery? Was it too confusing with two Teds?”

“No, actually, Teddy Bear joined our group after I got the nickname. When I was a kid, I was so obsessed by Tex Avery – you know, the cartoon? – that I tried to get people to start calling me Tex instead of Ted. They started calling me Avery and it sort of never went away. See… It’s an incredibly underwhelming story.”

“It’s a good story. When People don’t use my first name, they just call me LJ or Covey. There is no story there.”

“Don’t worry, LJ Covey. We’ll find you something.” I like that idea. Not particularly getting a nickname in itself, just him being so sure that we are going to see each other again and hang out enough for him and his friends to find me a nickname.

“What are we talking about?” Chris asks coming back to sit with us. She looks incredibly lucid for someone who was clearly losing at that drinking game.

 

Some friends of John join and leave the conversation regularly. I finally officially meet Emily, from model UN, and she seems very protective of John. Not in a ‘marking her territory’ way, more in a ‘don’t break his heart’ way. I like that.

John seems to be very popular in his school. There are all kinds of people here. Boys from sports teams and cheerleaders, students from the drama club, mathletes, a guy who just came back from six months in a partner school in Europe, and people like me, who could blend into the crowd. And the groups of people are very fluid. People move from one to another, engaging with everybody.

It’s the kind of friends I would have pictured John having.

 

I feel an arm wrap around my waist. It’s John. His mouth is against my ear and he whispers, “Do you want to ditch the crowd for a minute?” I nod and his hand slides into mine, taking me away. We move towards the stairs and for a moment, I wonder if he is taking me to his room. Am I the girl that disappears in a bedroom with a boy during a party?

But John doesn’t take me upstairs. He takes me outside. We walk to the back of his garden. No one is there, probably because it is quite dark. “This is my favorite place in the evening,” he says pointing at a trampoline.

“Really?”

He nods, opens the safety net and lies on the trampoline. He invites me to join him with a head movement and I go lie next to him. Like this, I can feel John’s heat where our arms touch, and I can see the starry sky.

“I come here sometimes when I want to think, empty my head, or just look at the sky” His voice is soft and low. “I also came here once or twice to draft in my head a letter for you.” I detach my eyes from the sky and turn my head toward him. He is a foot away or so and in the dark, it feels like I’m remembering his features more than I am seeing them. Still, he is very beautiful. “I’m sorry I’ve been busy tonight.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s your birthday party. Of course, you should mingle!”

“I know, but… it’s a bit frustrating to know that you’re there, and not have alone time with you.”

“We’re having alone time right now.”

Even with such little light, I can see that he is smiling. “True.” His hand slide on the trampoline to reach mine and I thread my fingers through his instinctively. “Are you having fun?”

“I am. It’s not a surprise, but your friends are really nice.”

“Some of them came to see me already to tell me that they really like you.”

“Oh? So I passed the friends test?”

“It wasn’t like that. It’s just… I told them a bit about you and they got curious. I haven’t dated, or talked about girls since my last girlfriend, so it’s pretty obvious that you’re special to me.” His words warm me up and get me giddy at the same time. “Did I pass your friendship test?”

“You know that Chris likes you.”

“I didn’t mean Chris.”

“Lucas likes you too.”

“I keep forgetting that the letters weren’t just for me and Kavinsky.”

“Does that bother you?”

“No. Actually, I think I like it. Sometimes, I still feel like I’m competing against Peter. That I need to show you that you made the right choice. But I didn’t want our letters to be about that. I don’t want you to think that I’m writing to you because I want to get more letters than Peter or something. But it’s not like that if letters are a part of who you are rather than a part of your former relationship. Does that make sense?”

I nod. I don’t know if it should, but it does. “So… I like your friends, you like my friends… our friends like us… That’s a good sign, right?” I ask.

“The best. Chris would definitely tell you if she thought you were making a mistake. And she would make me back off if she thought I wasn’t good enough.”

“She’s my personal scary guardian angel,” I agree.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” John says. “I’m always so amazed at how well you fit into my life. With Stormy, with the letters, with my friends, with everyone and everything.” Then he slides closer to me, and our lips touch. Finally. His free hand cups my face and I melt into the moment. The boy, the stars, the kiss. It’s perfect.

When we break apart, my eyes are used to the dark enough to see the intensity in his. My stomach twists. Something is going to happen, I feel it inside my body. When John takes a breath, part of me wants to put a hand over his mouth to delay whatever he is going to say, but a bigger part of me is dying for him to say it. “Lara Jean, I think I’m fall…”

That’s when Chris appears, interrupting John. I love her, but right now I could kill her. “There you are. Sorry to interrupt whatever you two love birds were doing, but we have a small problem.”

“What sort of problem?” John asks.

“It’s related to me, and it brought a plus one.”

Suddenly, it’s like someone poured icy water on my back. What is Gen doing here, and who is her plus one? That’s a stupid question. I can read it on Chris’s face. Why would Peter come here? What is he hoping to achieve by crashing John’s birthday party?

 

We make it back to the living room where Peter is talking about Lacrosse with Avery – who probably recognized him from a previous game – Gen on his arm. She spots us first.

“John!” she exclaims with her charming voice. She nearly jumps to us and wraps herself around John, looking straight at me the entire time. “Happy birthday! I heard about tonight and I thought we should bring the whole gang together again!”

“Really?” Chris asks. “Where is Trevor?”

Genevieve lets go of John and looks at her cousin. “He couldn’t make it. It’s a shame, right?”

“Yeah. A real fucking tragedy.”

Lucas appears too, and Peter says “Oh, is it a letter receiver’s reunion too?”

John opens his mouth to say something, but he can because I’m already storming over to Peter. I grab his wrist and I drag him to the nearest room. We are now both in what seems to be the laundry room. Peter has his cheeky face on, and I know he is going to say something stupid. So I speak before he can.

“What are you doing, Peter?”

“I came to celebrate John’s birthday.”

“No, you are not. You crashed his birthday party, and that was not out of the goodness of your heart. Why are you here?”

He shrugs. “Gen and I saw pictures of the party on Instagram, and I told her that I didn’t know if the two of you were dating, and she said that we should come and check, and…”

“You could have asked me.”

“Permission to come?”

“No. If I was dating John.”

There is a pause, and his face isn’t cheeky anymore. It is more serious than I have ever seen. “Are you dating John?”

“I am.”

His whole face shuts down instantly. “Wow. You didn’t lose any time…”

“It’s been months, Peter.”

“Still… I still care about you, and you just… move on? Did you ever care at all?”

“We didn’t break up because we didn’t care about each other. We broke up because it didn’t work.”

“It sounds like the same thing.”

“It’s not, though.”

“Well… I guess you didn’t like me that much. You got cozy pretty quick with Sundance Kid.”

“Don’t call him that. And you are not allowed to emit a judgment on my love life.”

“Why? Because of your stupid idea that there was something between me and Genevieve?”

“No. Because we are broken up.”

There is a flash of pain in his eyes, and that sort of breaks my heart. I am sorry that his journey is slower than mine. But I can’t go back. I decided, I moved on, and it isn’t Peter that’s constantly at the back of my mind.

“So if I had a new girlfriend, you would be fine with it?”

“Yes.”

“And if I went back to Genevieve, you would be fine with it?”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing already?”

“You didn’t answer the question?”

“I don’t think I would be fine with it.”

“You are such a hypocrite.”

“No. I wouldn’t mind for me. I would mind for her. Look… Peter, if you are still in love with her, then please, get back together, and be as happy as you can. I’ll be happy for you too. But don’t go back to her because you’re hurt, or lonely, or because you think it would make me jealous. That would be cruel. She’s here for you. When she was in pain, she reached out to you. She is clearly still into you. And I think you are too. But until you are sure, you can’t. Don’t play with her like that. That would be cruel. And you are not cruel.”

Peter doesn’t answer, and I feel like this is it. We’ve told each other all we needed to for today. So I stand up and leave. I don’t see Peter, nor Genevieve, again the entire evening.

 

I go back to the party and look for John. I can’t find him. I go outside. He is not on the trampoline either, but two people are having a furious make-out session. It doesn’t look as romantic as when I was there with John.

I go back inside, and I ask Lucas if he’s seen John. He hasn’t. Chris hasn’t. Avery hasn’t. So I check all the rooms. I end up finding John in the garage.

“Hey, you. What are you doing here?”

“I came to get some ice and I… just stopped to think for a minute. I guess it’s been more than a minute, huh?”

“A bit, yeah.”

He is sitting on a massive freezer and I join him.

“It is a nice garage,” I say stupidly, because I don’t know what else to say.

“It is an ordinary garage. If you Googled ‘garage’, you would probably find a picture that looks exactly like this.”

“Which means that it’s a functional garage,” I say. God, why do I even _keep speaking_?

He smiles. “So… Where is Peter?”

“I don’t know.”

“What did he want?”

I sigh. “I’m not sure. I think… I think he needed to see for himself that we really are done, you know?”

He nods, but he isn’t looking at me. His hands are linked between his knees, I try to slide one of my hand between them, and I am relieved when he opens them to let me. “John, are you okay?”

“I am, it’s just… Peter has always been the confident, happy, funny kid, you know? The one the girls liked. I used to feel invisible, next to him, sometimes. I don’t feel like that anymore, but when he is there, I remember that feeling so vividly. And when he looks at you… I can’t help but remember that he also got the girl, you know? I guess I didn’t want you to see me like that. It’s not very attractive.”

I jump from the freezer and I come to stand in front of him, between his legs. Even like this, he is a bit taller than me. I put my hands around his face and I force him to look at me. “John… Part of me wants to tell you that you have nothing to envy Peter, or to fear from him. But a bigger part of me wants to tell you that I get it. I feel like half of my waking hours consist of being insecure about something. You don’t need to feel embarrassed about that. Ever. I don’t need you to be the perfect Netflix movie boy. I need you to be you. And if you feel down about something, you can tell me, or you can not tell me, but you shouldn’t be afraid of me seeing it. It is not going to make me like you less. Quite the opposite.”

John gently pulls on my arm and I lean against his chest, forehead buried in his neck, his arms wrapped around me. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he says again, and I don’t know if he means the party or the garage.

“Me too,” I say. Because it’s true. Both the party and the garage. It is not a romantic room, but this moment feels so nice that I wouldn’t trade it for the world. “What were you going to say when Chris interrupted us?”

His hand strokes my hair gently and he replies, “Don’t worry about it.” I get it, whatever it was, especially if it was what I think it was, it was for a moment under the stars, not for a garage sort of filled with Peter’s presence.

My phone starts ringing in my pocket. I turn it off without detaching myself from John.

“What was that?”

“Curfew.”

“Five more minutes?”

I give him ten.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I feel like I have disappeared for a while. I sort of worked on other projects and the longer I waited, the more difficult it was to get back into the story and the characters.  
> But I won't be that long before the last chapter, I promise!

**Dear Lara Jean,**

**Thank you again for coming to my birthday party. Please, thank Chris for her birthday present. Tell her that there is nothing I wanted more, even though I had no idea. Or even better, give me her details and I will thank her myself.**

**It occurred to me that we went to a USO event in a nursing home, we planned some pretty decent techniques for a game of assassin, you came to my Model UN (twice), we ate the most delicious cake, you came to my birthday party as my girlfriend, but we still haven’t been on a date.**

**I know I should have asked you out before our kiss, and before we made it official, because it’s not as romantic now, but I would really like to take you out on a date. Would you be free on the sixteenth? I would come and pick you up at six.**

**I know we could go on the date sooner if I just called you, but it would also feel less like us, wouldn’t it?**

**Love,**

**John.**

_Dear John,_

_Of course, I came to your birthday party. It was very nice to meet your friends. Also, and I don’t know if I should admit that, but I was very proud to be introduced as your girlfriend._

_I didn’t even notice that Chris gave you a present, but I’m happy to know that she has manners!_

_I am sorry however about Peter and Genevieve. We both know they wouldn’t have shown up if I hadn’t been there. I hope it didn’t ruin the party for you._

_I would be delighted to go on a date with you, and the sixteenth sounds perfect. I have a thousand questions about that date, but I actually think I prefer letting you surprise me._

_Writing definitely feels more like us._

_Love,_

_Lara Jean._

 

**Dear Lara Jean,**

**I don’t think you were as proud to be introduced as my girlfriend as I was introducing you as such. Whenever someone told me how great you were, I had this feeling in my chest. Like I’m the luckiest person in the world because you chose me.**

**Do not worry about Kavinsky. He didn’t ruin the party. If anything, he made it more interesting for some of the guests. Plus, I get him. It must be hard, losing you. I’ll even say that I am thankful, in a way. That moment we shared in the garage, I think I needed that.**

**I will pick you up at six on the sixteenth. I don’t know how much of a surprise it is going to be, because I am planning on taking you on a textbook date. The kind from books, movies, and songs. The kind you deserve.**

**But if you like the unexpected, maybe next time I’ll take you bungee-jumping or something.**

**Love,**

**John.**

 

I don’t know about bungee-jumping, but I already feel giddy about the ‘textbook date’. I shouldn’t put that kind of pressure on him, but I feel like because it’s John, it’s going to be perfect. He is the kind of person who would take me to the perfect date.

It’s funny, really, when we talk on the phone, we don’t even mention the date. It’s like the letters happen in a different world.

 

On the sixteenth, Chris and Mrs. Rothschild are both at my house. I asked Chris over because she knows me, and she knows John, I asked Mrs. Rothschild over because she helped me get ready for the USO party, and I probably am going to need someone to tone Chris down.

I know it seems stupid, having two people over to get ready for a date, but it’s my first official date with John and I want to look perfect. I want to take his breath away. I’m not sure if it’s a real thing in real life, or if I have read too many romance novels, but that’s what I want.

Choosing the clothes wasn’t that hard. We all agreed on a dress. Chris said that it should be red and revealing. We didn’t have to hurt her vision by saying no, since I simply don’t own one of those. We finally decide on a yellow vintage dress that Margot brought me from Scotland and that looks like spring.

Chris does my hair and make-up while Mrs. Rothschild is basically just there, but it is nice to have a ‘mother figure’ in the room. I don’t like calling her that, because it’s not exactly how I see her and it is not what she is trying to be either. But I cannot find a better word.

Once we are done, I find myself pretty, but also something else. Attractive, maybe? Even a bit sexy. But not in a way that would make me uncomfortable. It makes me feel confident.

“I’ll be climbing through your window tonight for a full debrief,” Chris exclaims before leaving the house.

“I didn’t hear anything,” Mrs. Rothschild simply comments with a mischievous smile. She feels like an ally. A bit like Stormy. Although less epic.

Mrs. Rothschild looks at me a bit more seriously now and taps the chair next to her. I sit down, wondering what this is about and why she waited for Chris to be gone. “Lara Jean, I am not your mother, and I am not going to have this conversation with you as a parent, but as a woman to another one.” This sounds like this is going to be uncomfortable. “You and John are apparently getting quite serious and he seems like a perfectly well-behaved young man. I am sure he is very charming. I want you to promise me that whatever happens in the future, it will only be things you want too.”

“Is this _the talk_?” I ask, embarrassed.

“No. Well… maybe a little. But more than sex can take you out of your comfort zone. It is an incredible sensation to let someone push our limits, but only if we are comfortable with that and it is our decision. I just want you to be strong and independent as well as in love. I just have seen too many times what can happen otherwise.”

“John isn’t like that.”

“If you say so, I believe you. But it shouldn’t matter what kind of boy he is. You should be the one in charge, really.” She says that with an easy smile and there is suddenly a bit more of Stormy in her than I thought.

I cannot reply to that because someone knocks on the front door. I don’t even have to open the door to know it’s John. Right on time.

As usual, John looks very handsome. There is sort of an old-fashioned nonchalance in the way he is dressed today and he looks truly dashing. I’m pretty sure it’s the only word that would fit him now. And he looks at me just like I hoped he would. Like I’m pretty. Like I’m attractive. Like I take his breath away.

Mrs. Rothschild gives him the recommendations from my dad and we leave.

 

“I tried to get the car again, you know, the one from the UFO party, but I got a look that clearly warned me not to push my luck,” he tells me.

I laugh. “It’s fine. Actually, it might even be for the best. We should let that night keep its magic and uniqueness.”

John has a soft smile as we stop in front of his car. “It’s that night that I decided that unless you asked me otherwise, I wouldn’t let you go,” he says and it makes me feel warm and shivering at the same time. For a second, I think he is about to kiss me, but instead, he adds: “But tonight is sort of on the same line. I hope it won’t tarnish any of that uniqueness you want to preserve.”

“Whatever you have planned for us, I’m sure it’s going to be great. Perfect, even.” His soft smile comes back and the evening is already perfect. I would follow him anywhere. Not that I wouldn’t be able to stand up to him, like Mrs. Rothschild feared, but I trust him to lead me somewhere that will fit me. I don’t feel diminished by that. On the contrary, it makes me want to return the favor and be the one who leads and surprises next time. I’m sure he would follow me blindly too.

 

I understand why John would think that the theme of this evening is somewhat similar to the UFO party, and I know that it is what gave him the idea. But it is also so different.

I absolutely love it. I remember reading about this place online and thinking that I should come someday and then, like so many things you read online, it slipped my mind.

John took me to this fake drive-in cinema where you don’t actually drive-in, but are seated in big American cars from the fifties.

I decide that our interest in snail mail and everything pre-70’s is a lifestyle and fashion statement, because we romanticized an era that was so full of possibilities, not the proof that I am old even before finishing high school.

 

I am leaning against John, his arm wrapped around me. He is warm, comfortable, and he smells so nice. I like being able to be almost cuddling like that while watching the movie. We couldn’t have done that in an actual cinema.

I have a hard time focusing on the movie. I really want to kiss him. Not that I would. The car gives us a fake sense of privacy, but we are still very much in public. I feel a tension between us, not in a bad way, and I am pretty convinced that his mind is in the same place.

“John?” His eyes leave the screen right away to find mine instead. “Thank you for tonight.”

“Don’t thank me yet. It sounds like you’re going to get out of the car and leave.”

“No, I know, but… In case I forget later. This is nice. This is very nice.”

“I saw an article about it and it immediately made me think of you. I’m glad you like it. However, I promise you that next time, I will take you somewhere modern, and fashionable, and where we won’t be surrounded by old people.”

“Don’t worry about it. I like that you get my old fashion side. But doing something different sounds nice too. That being said… how do you feel about visiting Stormy soon?”

“I haven’t really told her about us, and she keeps giving me hints that I should ask you on a date.”

“Why haven’t you told her?” I ask, confused.

“I thought it something we should tell her together. I know she’s my family, but she values you just as much. Maybe more, actually,” he adds, and I laugh.

“She does not! But I would love to give her the news with you. She is going to be so excited!”

“I’ve actually pictured it in my head a couple of times. Us telling her and how she would react. I don’t know if she is going to be excited or if she is just going to give us a knowing look.”

“Aah. Her famous ‘I told you so’ look. I have seen it.”

He looks at me and he’s not exactly smiling, but he looks genuinely happy. There is something extremely powering and yet humbling to know that in this moment, it is because of me. I put my head back on his shoulder and he runs his fingers in my hair.

Surprisingly enough, I manage to focus back on the movie until the credits.

 

After the movie, we decide to get food from the diner attached. We leave the car whose brand I already forgot and start walking there.

This is when, suddenly, out of the blue, John asks: “Lara Jean, is your friend Lucas gay?” I freeze. Where is this question coming from? Is it curiosity, or is he asking because Lucas got a letter too and tried to reassure him by saying that we could never work? John apparently notices my reluctance to answer, because he immediately corrects himself: “It’s fine, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t think it’s something he’d want to share. It’s just… I promised I would ask.”

“Promised who?”

“Ted. You met him on my birthday, I don’t know if you remember. Anyway, the two of them apparently spent a lot of time together that night and exchanged numbers, but Ted isn’t sure he’s reading the situation correctly, and he has this massive crush… But as I said, I’ve done my part. If Lucas isn’t gay, let’s do nothing and Ted won’t act on it, he has a history of falling for straight boys and I don’t think he’ll risk it again. If Lucas is gay, you could mention the crush to him, and then they can sort things out on their own.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah, I… I can’t really tell you more.”

“You do realize that it actually says a lot?”

“Can you pretend it doesn’t?”

“Sure. It’s none of my business, really.”

“Thank you.”

I squeeze his hand and he pulls me closer, letting go of my hand to wrap his arm around my waist. I thought it would be awkward to walk like this, but it’s actually very nice.

 

At the end of the evening, John doesn’t just drive me home, he walks me to the door. The porch light isn’t on and John is only lit by the moon, tamed lights from inside my house, and the distant lamp posts. In the semi-darkness, he is even more handsome than he has been all evening.

“Thank you for tonight,” I say because I don’t know what else to say.

“You said that already,” he answers with a smile in his voice.

He takes my hand and pulls me close. Even in the dark, I can see all the details of his face. The way he looks at me makes me feel a bit weak in the knees. He cups my face and seems on the brink of saying something. Just like on his birthday.

I stay there, my heart beating louder than it should, waiting for the words to come out.

They don’t, though, and instead, he puts his lips on mine, sweet and butterfly soft.

The kiss doesn’t grow into anything more because a light suddenly switches on on the other side of the door.

“I should go before your father brings me in for questioning, shouldn’t I?”

“That might be safer,” I agree. I don’t think my dad would properly interrogate him but I am also certain that he would find a way to embarrass me and I would rather keep that for another night.

“Okay. I’ll call you then. We can pick a day to go visit Stormy.”

“I would love that.”

“Sleep well, then.” He kisses me one last time before leaving. Tonight was really sweet, thoughtful and I had a lot of fun. The movie was great, and John was equally interesting, interested, charming and funny during dinner.

And yet, something is bothering. Something I can’t quite put my finger on.

 

When I go to bed, Chris still hasn’t appeared in my room. I don’t think she will. I think she found something exciting to do tonight and that she will message me tomorrow with a crazy tale of why she didn’t check on me before. It will probably be very entertaining.

Sometimes, it still surprises me how close we are when we are so different. Actually, maybe that’s why. We accept the other one without judgment, and that might be the only way to build a true and lasting friendship.

 

Just before falling asleep, as I am thinking about John, I finally understand what had been on my mind. It’s the difference between the way John looks at me, and the way he acts around me.

When we kissed on his actual birthday, it was properly breath-taking. But since then… I believe that the kiss on my porch is the first on we had since then, and it was very chaste.

I am not saying that I want to have make-out sessions whenever we have the chance, but… I used to feel wanted and desirable when I was with Peter. Is that not how John feels too? Did I trade Peter’s passion for John’s composure?

I don’t know how much I mind, I would just like to know where we stand. I love the relationship I have with John, the fact that we write to each other, the specific way he texts, the fact that he always understands me, the little jumps my heart makes when he calls me, the way he looks at me, how he challenges me intellectually… So many things I like about him and about us. But there is this ‘but’ in the middle of it. I am not even sure if it is something I want or something I am used to.

Is it a subject I can bring up with John without hurting his feelings? Maybe _I_ should instigate something and see what happens. Oh, God, what if we actually don’t have chemistry? What if he wants to be just friends? What if I make a fool of myself?

When I start spiraling, I hear a knock on my window. It’s Chris. I guess she didn’t find anything more exciting to do after all. Her timing has never been so perfect. Not only because it will stop me from obsessing over what might be nothing, but also because she might be the perfect person to ask for her opinion on this.

Yes. Let’s talk about it with Chris. She’ll know what to do.

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long, but the final chapter is finally here! Just on time for the release of the second movie, too!  
> I guess we'll see how movie John compares to book John!
> 
> Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy the chapter!

**Dear Lara Jean,**

**I don’t know when you will find this letter, hopefully soon enough that you still remember what I’m talking about.**

**This is weird. I am writing to you about something that will happen in my future but already happened for you.**

**I hope tonight will go/has gone well. I am a bit nervous now, so I felt like writing you a letter. It became my happy place when you’re not here. Is it weird? I’m sure you’re nervous too, for different reasons. Although you don’t have to be. My family will love you. Everyone loves you. You are this kind of person that is so easy to love being around. My concerns are far more serious. I hope that my family will not put you off. I love every single one of them, but I know they can be a handful as a group. I hope you know that I will be by your side and on your side always. I also hope they’ve been nice to you.**

**I now realized that I keep repeating the word ‘hope’ over and over again. I have so many hopes for tonight. I have a few more. I hope that we already made plans to see each other again. Lately, we only made plans through letters, and that means we don’t see each other that often. We should start making plans like regular teenagers. In exchange, I promise I will keep writing you letters forever. How does that sound?**

**As for my main hope: I hope I will stop chickening out and tell you the words that keep dancing in my mind whenever I see you but never make it past my mouth. I hope you know which ones by now.**

**And finally, I hope you had fun. I really want these two parts of my life to fall together nicely and naturally. I don’t want this to feel like a chore to you.**

**I just had a look at the time. I have to finish this letter, but it’s just because it’s time for me to go pick you up. I guess five minutes wouldn’t make a big difference, but I can’t wait to see you.**

**Love,**

**John.**

 

I found the letter in my bag that evening after John dropped me home. I read it with the goofiest smile that apparently cannot leave my face. I don’t know when he put the letter in there, but I’m glad he did. He looked so confident all evening, it’s nice in a way to know that he did that to calm me but that he was equally nervous.

John and I decided to have a ‘rip the bandaid’ weekend. Friday evening, John had dinner here to be properly introduced as my boyfriend and spend time with my dad and Kitty. Mrs. Rothschild – who recently asked me to just call her Trina – wasn’t there. It was just us Coveys. This evening, I met John’s family. And tomorrow, we are paying Stormy a visit.

After this weekend, we will be a fully official couple.

It nearly didn’t happen though because my car had to be serviced. John told me he would be my chauffeur this weekend, regardless of the back and forth he would have to do or the detour to Stormy’s.

So he picked me from home yesterday, just as I was pacing nervously around the living room, and talked about anything but his family during the drive, taking my mind to less stressful places. When we arrived, I asked him for tips. He just put his ocean eyes in mine and softly said: “Just be yourself. That’s who I want them to see.” And just like that, I wasn’t nervous anymore.

His family was incredibly welcoming. I think they still liked me from when they were living in my neighborhood. There was something else, though. Something more. I think – and I might be wrong as it is a somewhat pretentious thought, but I still can’t shake that feeling – that his parents might be happy to see John with me. I don’t know what he told them, or if I can live up to that, but it was an incredible feeling, to just be accepted immediately.

Not that any of that evening matters more than what happened when he dropped me off. We were standing on my porch, saying goodnight and he looked a bit nervous. A bit un-John-like. At first, I was nervous too, as I thought maybe I had done something I shouldn’t have.

“John? Are you alright?”

He looked straight at me and there was something in his eyes that made me shiver. “I’m more than alright,” he started with a soft, deep, slightly shaky voice. I knew then that this moment, even if I still didn’t know where it was going, was going to be one of the few you remember and cherish. “I’m in love,” he finished.

My heart expanded, bigger, brighter and warmer than the sun. I was happy to hear those words, but even more than that… I think I needed them, somehow.

He gently brushed his thumb against my cheek and I felt the words making their way out of my mouth. Before I could say anything, though, John gently placed his hand on my mouth. “You’re not allowed to say it back. Not yet anyway. It took me weeks to work up the nerve to say this and I am not going to let you steal this moment back.”

He was still smiling though and when he took his hand away, I stayed silent. I understand where he is coming from. If I had said it first, I’m not sure if I would have wanted him to say it back straight away. Part of me might have thought that he might have felt like he had to, or that he was just caught up in the moment.

John cupped my face with his hands and as he started to lean in. My heart fluttered. I knew that it would answer my question. After telling me that he loves me, he had to kiss me like he meant it, right?

Except I didn’t get to find out because lights went on behind the door and we broke apart even before we had a chance to kiss.

 

Now I am lying on my bed, a bit frustrated that I didn’t get my mind-blowing, breath-taking, post-declaration goodnight kiss, but mostly happy.

My family likes John. John’s family likes me. John _Loves_ me. I love John.

It makes me feel all happy and warm.

Even though I would still have liked for us to kiss.

 

Half an hour later, Chris shows up in my room. As I am getting ready for bed, she is about to get out with people she met on an app I don’t even know. Part of me is a bit worried for her and her lifestyle, but part of me is also impressed and envious.

“So… how is your ‘meet the family weekend’ going?” she asks.

“Great!” I can’t help the goofy smile on my face as I tell her what John told me before leaving. She has a happy, although slightly patronizing, smile on her face.

“Well done you!”

“What do you mean, ‘well done’?”

“Kavinsky, McClaren… you can get them all, can’t you?”

“It’s not like that!” I reply. It’s really not. It’s not like I am trying to get boys for sport.

She laughs. “I know. It’s still an impressive list of conquests! But anyway. About what truly matters. Did you say it back?”

“No.” She seems confused because my smile got wider. “I think I will tomorrow.”

“I’m happy for you,” Chris says looking a bit more serious now. “I think he is a better fit for you than Peter K and all the drama that my cousin brought along.”

Part of me still wishes that things could have worked out with Peter. But I am not sad anymore, and if I had to wish for a boy, it wouldn’t be him either.

“Are we going to celebrate your big day by going out?” she asks me.

“No, Chris, I am not going to go with you meet some guys I don’t know past my curfew, thank you very much. Plus, I’m getting up early tomorrow.”

“On a _Sunday_? What are you doing?”

“John and I are visiting Stormy and then we’re going to his place to do some homework.”

“And you want to tell him that you love him?”

“I know it’s not a dream day for you, but I am actually looking forward to it.”

“Yeah, yeah, you two are nerds. I meant… if you’re going to tell him that you love him during homework or at an old people’s home, you need to create a moment. Because, just like that, it doesn’t scream romantic.”

I get her point. And she’s right. But she’s also wrong. I remember that night in the snow and then by the fireplace… It was crazy romantic and it happened at the ‘old people’s home’.

“Chris…”

“What’s up?”

“Do you think that John is into me?”

“Oh, Geez, I don’t know. Are we talking about the guy that stole you from Kavinsky, is your current boyfriend and told you that he loved you? I’m not sure. It’s really hard to tell.”

I throw a pillow at her.

“I know he likes me. I completely believe that he loves me. But… do you think he _wants_ me?”

Thankfully, she understands what I am talking about without me having to spell it out for her. “He’s a guy. He wants you.”

“He’s just not very… he doesn’t take initiatives that much.”

“Have you told him that you want him to do that?”

“No. I didn’t have to with Peter.”

“Yes, well Peter is Peter and John is John. Although I one hundred percent believe that Peter wouldn’t have crossed any line you weren’t fine with, I think that John might be the kind of guy who wants to be sure about where the lines are before going anywhere near them.”

“I don’t know if I can ask him that. It’s a bit embarrassing.”

“Then enjoy being stuck into a platonic limbo until one of you wakes up.”

“But what if I ask and he is not up for it?”

“Not into what? Kissing you? That’s unlikely. Bet even if he isn’t, then you’ll know and you’ll stop wondering. But I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Even back then, in the treehouse… he wants it.”

 

 _He wants it_.

I fall asleep with Chris’s words in my mind. It gives me the confidence boost I needed. Tomorrow, I will kiss John like my life depends on it and we’ll see what happens.

 

Stormy seems excited to see us. According to her, it’s been too long since any of us came to visit her. I think she might be right. I might have been neglecting her since I got a new boyfriend. In my defense, she did advocate for said boyfriend more than once.

“I’m sorry, Stormy,” John says. “I have been a bit busy lately.”

“With school?” she asks. “I know that academics are important, and I am proud of your achievements, but there is also more to life, you know?” She shoots me a look. She definitely the least subtle person I know when it comes to meddling in other people’s business.

“No, actually, I have been busy with a girl.” John used a very detached tone and Stormy shoots me a panic look that dies out the moment she sees my smile.

“A girl?” she repeats. “Anyone I know?”

“Yes,” he replies. At this point, we all know that she understood what he’s saying, but she is dragging it out anyway.

“Would I like her?”

“You would absolutely love her.”

“How much would I love her?”

“I think that if you were allowed to pick a girl for me, you would pick that one.”

A knowing smile spreads on Stormy’s face. As if she knew that this would happen and she is over the moon to have proven us right. I don’t mind. If my happiness makes her happy, I’m all for it!

“You two are going to make us gorgeous babies!”

“Grandma!”

We are so not there yet. By any means…

 

There is no one at John’s house, which is a small miracle. Not that we are making the most of it. We are in his living room, studying.

He is extremely handsome, focusing on his math equations, slightly frowning, the picture of seriousness. I have a hard time with my English essay. Probably more because I find his distracting than because of the essay itself.

I have wondered, the past few days, if I were expecting a different behavior from John simply because it was what I was used to. But now, sitting next to him, dying to touch him, or for him to touch me, but not knowing if it’s okay… I know that it is definitely something that I want.

I do not need for John to be Peter, or act like him. I simply want John to want me as a girlfriend rather than a girl friend…

“Lara Jean, are you alright? You seem miles away.”

“Yes, sorry… I think I have issues with Hemingway.”

“You know… I have a pretty good annotated version. You’re welcome to borrow it, if you want.”

That doesn’t solve the issue I was actually thinking about, but it sounds helpful. “Yes, that would be great!”

“Come on, let’s see if we can find it.” He doesn’t hesitate before leaving his half answered equation, even if that means he probably will have to start it all over again, and it makes me feel important.

I follow John and only realize where he is taking me when we’re there.

“So… this is my bedroom.” Somehow, this is exactly how I would have pictured his room. It is tidy, although not obsessively so, there are a lot of bookshelves, one covered with various trophies, a few posters, including some about things I didn’t know he was interested in. I am quite excited about all the things I still have to learn about John. The walls are blue, but it doesn’t make the room feel cold.

And there is his bed… It is made. I sort of want to sit on it and see if he would join me.

As I suspected, John is very organized and he finds the book almost immediately. He hands it to me and our fingers brush. I don’t know what happens, but as usual, John can read me like an open book. He puts his copy aside on his desk and takes both my hands.

“Lara Jean… Are you sure you’re okay? You seem a bit off today. Is it about what I said yesterday?”

“No! Of course, not!” I blurted out the words, but I just couldn’t let him think that his words gave me anything but joy.

“What is it then?”

I could lie. I could say that it’s nothing. Or I could tell him the truth. Be brave and rip the band-aid. “John… Do you want me?”

“What?” he asks with a surprised laugh. “Didn’t the part where I asked you to be my girlfriend and you said yes cleared any ambiguities on the fact that I want to be with you?”

“I know _that_ ,” I say, my cheeks heating up uncomfortably, “I mean… the way you kiss me is always so… chaste.”

John’s smile fade. “Oh.” I feel very uncomfortable. He looks uncomfortable too. Did I just ruin things? “Lara Jean, I’m sorry if I made you feel like that. It’s just… I’m trying to be the kind of boyfriend that you deserve, you know? And every time I want to get closer to you… I have the video popping in my head…”

I am mortified. I have never been so embarrassed in my life.

“Hey, Lara Jean, don’t make that face. I don’t mean it like that. I don’t replay the video in my head, or think about you and Kavinsky, I just mean… I remember how embarrassed you were when you learned I saw the video, and that you were afraid that I would jump to conclusions or think differently of you because of it. I just wanted to make you feel like I didn’t… expect anything because of that video. I was trying to not let it come between us. I guess I fail, uh?”

It really touches me that he takes the video and how it affected me so seriously. I feel my face go soft and I can see that he notices, because he relaxes too. He pulls me into a hug. At that moment, I realize how familiar and comforting his smell is.

I used to think that it was difficult to be in a relationship with no experience and nothing to compare situations to. I am becoming very aware that it can be equally difficult to navigate a new relationship with some previous experience.

“I like that you’re so considerate,” I say, because it’s true. “But it’s nice to feel desired. You know, if you are attracted to me.”

“If?” John moves his hands up to cup my face. He lands a butterfly kiss on my lips. Then another one. Then he’s kissing me. Really kissing me. A heart-racing, breath-taking, girl on her tip-toes kind of kiss. One of his hands falls on my waist and my arms lock around his neck. He shifts us slightly and takes a step forward, forcing me to take a step back, and I am now leaning against the wall. The hand that was on my waist travels down until John’s fingers are around my thigh, gentle but firm. His other hand tilts my head so his lips can start kissing my neck.

I let out a soft moan and I feel him smile against my neck. I am not even embarrassed. He kisses me on the lips one last time and looks at me. His eyes are a shade darker than usual. “Lara Jean, let’s make something clear. I am _very much_ attracted to you.” Now I’m the one smiling.

His lips are back on mine and my fingers get lost in his hair. It’s incredibly soft.

“Is this too much?” he asks between two kisses.

“No,” I reply, pushing on my toes to get even closer. His breath hitches and he wraps his arms around me.

“Bed?” he mumbles, and I know that no matter what I decide, it would be completely fine with him.

“Yes.”

We just sat down on it, but we quickly end up horizontal. We shift slightly and John ends up on top of me.

He breaks the kiss and looks at me as his fingers land on the top closed button of my shirt. His eyes are asking a question, gently. I think about it for a couple of seconds. It’s John. I know he isn’t about to take this any further. I feel completely safe. So I nod.

John opens the button, not breaking eye-contact, and lets his fingers find the next one. He stops and waits. I smile and nod again. He repeats that with every single button. Only when he fully opened my shirt does he look down.

For a second, I panic. What bra am I wearing? What does he expect? Is he going to be disappointed? But before I can spiral any further, John lets out in a breath: “You’re so beautiful!” I can feel my face heat up, but I am more pleased than embarrassed.

We kiss again and I let my fingers find their way under his t-shirt. I sort of enjoy being _under_ his clothes, even for something as small as letting my palms map out the muscles on his back.

 

When his parents get back home, we are both perfectly presentable, back in the living room, finishing our homework, with happy smiles glued to our faces.

The kissing was great, but it’s not just that. It’s the fact that we both feel like we tore down the last wall standing between us.

John and I are going to be epic. I am sure about that. I am so happy it’s almost scary.

I lean toward John and whisper in his ear: “I love you.”

His fingers find mine and he lands a quick kiss on my lips. I can see in his eyes that if his family wasn’t just next door, he would take me back upstairs…

 

His mother invites me to dinner that night. She does it naturally, almost casually, as if I already was a part of the family.

 

I was right. At the end of this weekend, we truly are a fully official couple.

 

 


End file.
